


He Comes With Knives

by fyreyantics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, SSBBsKinktober2020, Verbal Humiliation, autassassinophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27412987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyreyantics/pseuds/fyreyantics
Summary: Peter knows it's a bad idea. He knows you aren't supposed to meet with strangers from the internet. But Peter isn't going to pass up meeting Beck - the charming tattooed stranger - even if it means going to a dead end bar in a part of town he's never been before.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 22
Kudos: 98
Collections: Thwip & Hari's Kinktober '20





	He Comes With Knives

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kinktober for the prompt knife play.

It had been months since Peter broke up with his last boyfriend and according to his friends, it was time to get back out there. 

Peter knew he'd spent long enough moping and he relented, if only to make them happy. He signed up for a dating site, made a profile, and browsed through prospective matches. But the more Peter messaged other guys, the less interested he became. He was bored; bored of the same type of guy with the same boring smiles, same cheery attitude, same light-hearted profile with often overlapping interests. All of them were around Peter's age, either in college or recently graduated. Polite, friendly, and all of them reminding Peter of his ex.

If Peter was being honest with himself, Harry hadn't been what he’d wanted in the first place. Peter had gone along with the relationship because Harry had been interested. He had seemed nice enough. He was good-looking, they had similar interests, and a lot of their friends knew each other. At the time, it had seemed the logical thing to do, but now, as Peter spent time scrolling through the site, it was slowly becoming clear that whatever Harry was, and whatever these guys were, it wasn't what Peter wanted. He wanted something different – so he tried something different.

He chose a different dating site; this one less about 'dating' and more 'hookups'. There were a greater variety of men – several were quite a bit older than Peter. None of them talked about college or career paths. Instead there were a lot of dick pics; some Peter appreciated, some he did not. Peter talked to a few of them, but never felt like sending any kind of photo back. That made most of them disinterested.

Then there was Beck. He was in his thirties. Peter didn't know a lot about him, but he looked hot and had a killer stare. He smoked, which shouldn't have been appealing, but Peter wasn't used to guys who smoked. He had tattoos – intricate designs running down his arms, images and words spaced like constellations upon his skin. He was different. The way he wrote had a subdued poetry to it; minimalist sentences where every word was weighted with intent. Beck didn't come in fast with a picture of his dick or a lewd suggestion. He waited. He was subtle, calculated, and he made Peter's insides squirm in the best way possible.

It meant that when Peter finally did get sent a photo of Beck's cock, it was all the more enticing. Peter remembered the moment vividly; how his pulse had quickened at the sight. The picture had Beck holding his hard cock in his hand, fingers curled beneath the shaft with his thumb pressed just above the base. Beck's cock was thick, above average length, with the head somewhat pronounced and smoothly rounded. Peter felt the tiniest bit embarrassed as his mouth watered, craving to have it in his mouth. Peter's own cock began to stir to attention, and keeping his eyes on the picture, he dipped his hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, jerking himself off. Before he let himself get close to finishing, he pulled his cock out and managed to summon up the nerve to take a picture to send to Beck. Peter's face was hot as he waited for a response, pleased when it wasn't a negative one.

It only took Peter a week to be convinced to meet up with Beck. Not a good idea – any of his friends would tell him that. But none of them knew about Beck. None of them knew that he'd agreed to meet Beck in a small bar in a backstreet, hidden away. If they did, they'd tell Peter it wasn't safe. But Peter didn't want to be 'safe'. He was sick of 'safe'. Peter wanted Beck.

Peter found himself in front of the bar. Plain-looking, the place sat between apartment buildings. In the darkened street, the lights from within bled out through the windows, spilling yellow on the ill-kept street. Peter checked his phone to make sure he'd found the right place. Once certain, he slid it into his pocket, crossed the street, and pushed the door to enter.

The place was quiet. Small tables were placed around the room with wooden chairs, but none were occupied. The few patrons present sat at the bar, their backs to Peter. The wall positioned before them featured a large cabinet of bottles of liquor, most a similar shade of oaken brown. A bartender stood talking quietly with one of the patrons, but stopped when Peter entered. In fact, all of the men at the bar turned around to look. All turned back, their curiosity evidently sated.

All except one.

Peter's heart skipped a beat. Beck was looking straight at him. A soft smile graced Beck’s lips, his handsome looks breathtaking enough to make Peter mute with wonder. Peter stared, noting the way Beck's hair was slicked back, stylishly complementing the leather jacket he wore. His beard was neatly trimmed, but didn't take away from the image he had cultivated; tattoos peaked out from beneath the neckline of his loose white shirt, and between two fingers rested a lit cigarette, spilling smoke into the air. Poised on the bar stool, the man looked Peter up and down. By the time they made eye contact once more, Beck's blue eyes were gleaming.

"Peter?" Beck asked, in a warm tenor.

"Uh, yeah," Peter replied.

"I'm Beck," Beck said with a slight grin. "Come sit."

He gestured to the bar stool next to him.

Peter made his way over, glancing at the others at the bar, who continued to act disinterested. Peter lifted himself up onto the bar stool beside Beck and settled into the seat. His eyes searched over the rows of liquor bottles against the wall, then the large chalkboard listing prices – some drinks unfamiliar, and a few he recognised.

Beck watched Peter as he took a slow drag on his cigarette, lips pursing. He blew out the smoke in another direction, breaking his gaze.

"Want a drink?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah. That'd be great," Peter responded, then upon seeing Beck's expectant look, continued, "Uh, a beer."

"Any beer?" Beck asked, with a hint of amusement.

"Um, yeah? Whatever's available."

Peter ducked his gaze to the bar. He should have thought this far ahead. He didn't know what beer was good, or any other kind of alcohol. He always went for whatever was cheap, or whatever was provided by friends at parties. Frustration itched at him. He didn't want Beck to think he was inexperienced.

"I'll order for you," Beck said, his large hand laying a reassuring pat on Peter's shoulder.

He called the bartender over. A warmth lingered from Beck's touch, distracting Peter momentarily.

The bartender left to get their drinks, during which Beck took a moment to smoke. Peter found himself drawn to the sight of Beck inhaling through the cigarette, watching the embers crackle gently before, after a short pause, Beck parted his lips to let the smoke billow from his mouth. Beck appeared unaware of Peter's gaze, tapping the cigarette against the edge of the ash tray in front of him.

"I was worried," Beck stated casually.

Peter shot Beck a confused look. "What do you mean?" 

"Honestly, I was almost expecting some middle-aged man to walk through that door," Beck confessed, eyes rising to meet Peter's. "Guy as cute as you? Hard to believe you'd meet up like this. I thought I must have been catfished. Guess I lucked out, huh?"

A warmth filled Peter’s chest, some of which rose to his cheeks.

"Uh, I could say the same about you," Peter said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "N-not the cute part, but you know, the...Well, you're, uh, really good-looking."

A smile formed on Beck's face. 

"I'm flattered," Beck said, sounding completely sincere.

Peter returned the smile as he scratched the back of his head.

At that moment, two beers were put before them. In an effort to hide his embarrassment, Peter took one straight away and drank down a mouthful. Beck took his, but didn’t drink straight away.

"So, Peter. Tell me about yourself."

Peter paused to think of something interesting to say. He settled on talking about college, and his degree. Thankfully Beck didn't seem to find the subject boring; his entire focus fixating on Peter as though he was the only person in the world. At first it was disarming, but as Peter had another beer, and then another, it fueled his confidence to talk about other aspects of his life. He mentioned his ex, and all the problems he'd been having with dating, and even though Peter felt he'd been oversharing, Beck didn't seem to mind. Beck talked about how he’d had a similar experience. His friends had thought they knew what was best for him and tried to get involved in his love life. He told Peter that sometimes it was best to ignore your friends and chase after what you want. The pleasant buzz combined with Beck's validation gave Peter a giddy sense of happiness. Warmth seeped and settled into his chest, curling up cozily. At the same time, he found fewer and fewer reasons to hide how much he wanted Beck. They were the same. They felt the same kind of things. Peter wanted him, and he was sure Beck wanted Peter too.

Peter's eyeline drifted often to Beck's lips, and after a few more drinks, dipped to Beck's crotch.

As Beck talked, Peter cradled his beer bottle in his hands. His lips pressed absent-mindedly against the cool glass. With eyes still on Beck, he let his tongue peak out to wet it.

With a look of amusement, Beck raised his eyebrows at Peter. He rested his head thoughtfully in one hand and looked Peter up and down.

“You’re not being very subtle.”

Peter took his lips from the bottle.

"Subtle?" he repeated, eyes widening in mock innocence.

Beck sighed with apparent fondness. "You keep doing that, Peter, and I'll –"

"What?" Peter asked eagerly. "What'll you do?"

Beck leaned towards Peter.

"Meet me in the bathroom and find out," he whispered in Peter's ear, his soft voice dipping low.

A shiver ran down Peter's spine. Before he could respond, Beck had already gotten up. He opened his wallet, placed a few banknotes on the bar, and walked to the back, disappearing into the hallway.

Peter got up a second later. He stumbled, but once on his feet, followed Beck in a steady line.

The hallway was dimly lit and it took Peter a few tries at different doors before he found the right one. Pushing it open, he found Beck casually leaning against the wall. Peter stopped about a metre away from him, part of him now questioning, even through his drunken haze, whether this was what he wanted.

Straightening up, Peter saw for the first time how much tall Beck was. He felt small, especially as Beck approached Peter, taking deliberate steps until Peter started stepping back. Peter's eyes grew wide as his back hit the wall. There was an unapologetic hunger in Beck's blue eyes and Peter couldn't bring himself to look away. The corner of Beck's lips twitched. He brought up a thumb to rub at Peter's bottom lip.

"Look at you," he murmured. "Such pretty doe eyes. I could just eat you up."

Peter didn't know what to say to that. He stared blankly as Beck took away his thumb, instead cradling Peter's head and leaning in for a kiss. His lips weren't gentle. They pressed and moved hungrily, teeth grazing while he forced his tongue inside Peter's mouth. Peter felt lost and confused. His back was against the wall, Beck holding onto his waist tightly. Beck's larger body shrouded over Peter's. Without recognising the impulse, Peter grabbed at Beck's shirt and started kissing back desperately. He tasted of beer, rum, and tobacco, but he smelled like a forest sharply tinged with citrus. So different from the guys he'd dated before. So much more intoxicating and complex. Even just the beard, lightly grazing his cheek, was novel, new, and exciting.

Peter pressed himself closer, hands slipping up under Beck's shirt. He gasped when their lips parted, but leapt back into action once he'd gotten a breath of air. Beck's thigh pressed between Peter's legs and Peter found himself grinding against it, feeling himself getting hard. Peter moaned as their lips continued to move together.

But as good as it felt, Peter knew what he wanted. He eased his grip and while they continued to kiss, his hand reached below Beck’s waist. He remembered that he knew what Beck's cock looked like. He remembered how much he wanted to taste it, to feel its weight on his tongue. With feverish haste, Peter's hands made to undo Beck's belt.

Beck broke their kiss and pulled away.

"You want it?" Beck asked breathily.

Peter nodded.

"Let me."

Beck brushed Peter's hands away and unclasped his belt. Peter watched like a hawk as Beck undid his trousers and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, his cock springing out. A needy whine escaped Peter's throat and he sank down to his knees right then and there. 

Hand encasing the shaft. Peter looked at Beck's cock in wonder – it was so gorgeous, thick, and hard. Wetting his lips, Peter drew his head forward to take the tip into his mouth. He sucked delicately at first, giving teasing licks along the slit, eager for a taste of Beck. He was so caught up in finally having the c–hance to take Beck's cock in his mouth that it took him a moment to remember to look up. Peter met Beck's gaze through his lashes. The heated look Peter found in Beck's eyes spurred Peter on. Slipping his head further along Beck's cock, Peter bobbed it up and down in slow, fluid motions, pressing his tongue against the underside and relishing the sensation.

Beck let out a soft sigh of contentment.

Peter hummed happily. He sucked messily along Beck's cock, getting the shaft wetter before moving his hand to stroke in tandem with his mouth.

The whole experience had a tinge of unreality about it. Maybe that's what allowed Peter to go further than he usually would, slipping his tongue along the underside, pulling back and rolling it around the ridge of the head of Beck's cock, doing all the things he'd been too shy to do otherwise. He loved giving head. It was embarrassing how much, but with Beck...Well, it didn't matter. Beck, with his hot as fuck tattoos and leather jacket. Beck, this one time encounter in a bathroom. No one would have to know.

He smiled as he pumped away at Beck's cock, letting his tongue swirl and dance around the head. He took broad licks along the shaft and resisted the urge to touch himself as his own cock strained the front of his jeans. Peter took it back into his mouth once more.

"Anyone ever told you how cute you look sucking dick?" Beck asked, the tone in his voice changing into something harsher, missing its warmth.

The question startled Peter. He moved back to speak. "N-no?"

A slow smirk grew on Beck's face.

"You know what else you'd look cute doing?" Beck asked. His fingers gently played with Peter's hair with a gentleness that didn't quite sit right.

Peter shocked his head.

"Choking on it."

Beck grabbed Peter's head. Beck took advantage as Peter opened his mouth in surprise. He shoved his cock inside. He pulled Peter further over his cock than Peter was comfortable, forcing Peter to open wider. Peter opened to give room, Beck's cock making his mouth uncomfortably full. It almost reached the back of Peter's throat when Peter's body started to protest. Peter tried to pull away, tried to push Beck back, but Beck remained immovable, his grip on Peter strong. Beck watched with indifference to Peter's struggles. He simply breathed in, eyes shutting briefly, allowing a moan of gratification to pass his lips.

Beck drew Peter's head backwards a few inches, giving Peter an opportunity to rest. Peter tried to breathe in through his nose. Beck kept him there for a few seconds, then shoved his cock back.

"Suck," Beck ordered as Peter struggled, his throat fluttering around Beck's cock.

His eyes began to burn with tears. But he obeyed, sealing his lips around Beck's cock and sucking.

Peter stopped to breathe through his nose, taking in as much air as he could.

"Do it again."

As Peter's throat spasmed, he thought back on his decision to come here. He shouldn't have met this stranger, let alone in a bar he'd never heard of that was nowhere near his apartment. He shouldn't have drunk so much, or agreed to come back to a bathroom. It was obvious now.

When Beck finally let go, Peter sprung off Beck's cock, taking a gulp of air as he did so. A thin strand of spit and precome trailed from Peter's lips and cock, breaking only when Peter wiped his mouth.

"You're finding this difficult, aren't you?" Beck asked, fingers softly carding through Peter's hair.

Peter swallowed and nodded, breathing hard. His eyes flitted over to the door momentarily. 

"Let's try something else," Beck told him.

"No, I – I need to go," Peter said as he stumbled to his feet. A dizziness struck him, and he reached out to lean against the wall. "I can't...stay..."

"Come on, Peter. We tried what you wanted; now it's my turn."

As Beck spoke, Peter had been edging his body towards the door. Now he stopped, his brow lightly furrowing. "What?"

"You wanted to suck my dick, now I want to fuck you," Beck said in a slow, purposeful way, as though he was explaining something to someone simple-minded.

Peter blinked. He didn't want to get fucked in a public bathroom. He never agreed to that. "No, I don't want to. I think...I've had enough. I need to go..."

Peter looked towards the door, and took a step towards it.

Beck sighed. "You're really going to be difficult about this, aren't you?"

Peter didn't have time to truly process Beck's words. Something silver, gleaming in the light, caught his attention.

A blade. 

Beck's fingers encased a black handle, wielding it with confidence. Peter's eyes trailed over the glinting edge, momentarily entranced before, in a sobering instant, Peter realised what it meant. Eyes wide in shock, Beck edged Peter back against the wall and away from the door. Peter couldn't tear his eyes away from the knife. For a brief second he wondered how sharp it was, and how it'd feel against his skin. The thought surprised him, but what was more surprising was how he felt. Fear clenched in Peter's chest as Beck brought the knife to Peter's bare neck, but arousal burned in his gut at the same time, vibrant and alive.

"Alright, Peter. Are you going to be good? Or do I need to be a bit more...persuasive?"

Peter swallowed thickly. He couldn't think of what to say. Beck pushed a little harder against Peter's neck, a sharp sting against his skin.

"I'll be good," Peter said breathlessly.

"Turn around. Put your hands on the wall."

Somewhat in a stupor, Peter obeyed, bracing himself against the wall. He froze stock-still as the sharp point of the knife pricked at the back of his neck. Peter barely moved a muscle as Beck undid Peter's belt, tugging down his jeans and underwear.

"Stick your ass out," Beck ordered.

Peter widened his stance and lowered his back, pushing his ass towards Beck. He swallowed thickly, aware of how he must look, legs spread and open, practically presenting himself to Beck. Beck groped and palmed the swell of the cheeks, bringing them apart with his thumbs and exposing Peter's hole to the cool air. Peter exhaled sharply when Beck touched the rim. Beck hummed, gently swirling the pad of his thumb against the sensitive flesh. 

Peter bit his lip. A sense of confusion weighed heavily on him; he wanted it to stop, for Beck to let him leave unscathed, but at the same time there was an immense and unreasonable curiosity about what might happen.

Beck took away one hand. Peter heard some rummaging, a click, and then felt something overly cold and wet against his entrance. Peter took a sharp intake of breath before Beck pushed a finger past Peter's tight rim, slipping inside.

The knife point was still there at the back of Peter's neck, keeping him from moving. Beck squeezed in a second digit, pushing the pair in deeper. His fingers tilted at an angle, searching and finally finding just the right spot. An abrupt moan fell from Peter's lips. Behind him Beck chuckled.

"If you're good, I'll make it good for you too. How about that?"

Beck brushed by the same spot again, making Peter gasp in pleasure, his cock twitching.

By the time Beck added a third Peter forgot where they were, forgot that he'd initially been against this. He whined for more, whined to be filled.

"And you were acting like you didn't want this," Beck murmured lowly.

Peter didn't know what to say to that. He felt himself grow more pliable, the voices of reason and regret vanishing into the foreground until it was just heated, baffling desire.

"But you need it. That’s why you’re here. Deep down, this is what you were looking for."

Beck's voice became breathless, thick with lust as his fingers slid in and out of Peter's ass.

"Please," Peter said quietly, the word falling from his lips unbidden.

In a rapid movement, Beck’s knife was back against Peter's throat, Beck urging Peter's head back with the blade. Peter's cock twitched and he wanted Beck inside him.

"You're so cute, Peter," Beck said fondly as he lined up his cock, one hand gripping Peter's hip. "Say it again."

The knife drew close enough to tease Peter's skin.

"Please," Peter repeated, slightly more insistent than before.

Slowly Beck buried his cock inside Peter, moaning as he entered inch by inch. Peter's eyes fluttered shut as he relished the way Beck filled him, and the way his own body eased to let Beck in. He knew he shouldn't be letting this happen – hadn't he just been saying no to this, saying he didn't want to be fucked here? – but he couldn't remember why when it felt so good, when his entire body burned for it.

Beck kept the knife to Peter's throat as he set a pace, starting a little slow and uneven before finding a steady rhythm. With every forward thrust, the knife's edge skirted Peter's skin, on the verge of cutting him. The idea that he could get cut, that Beck's hand might slip, was driving Peter crazy. He could feel his cock dripping with precome, a thick drop slipping onto his shaft.

"Such a good boy. Not even trying to fight," Beck praised, voice rough and a little breathless. Beck fucked him harder, forcing moans out of Peter that echoed throughout the empty bathroom."But the knife stays. Unless you beg me. Are you going to beg for me?"

Peter frowned, his mind hazy. Why would he want Beck to put the knife away? He wanted the knife. Wanted it against him, wanted to feel the sharp edge drag over his skin, playing circles.

"Hurt me," he gasped at last.

Beck's hips faltered for a moment. Then they started up again.

"Oh. You like this."

Beck chuckled, clutching the knife tighter against Peter's skin. His other hand reached round, searching and finding Peter's hard cock. He took hold of it causing Peter to whine and canted his hips up.

"Fuck," Beck whispered in awe. It was a sound of genuine surprise as Beck's fingers made contact with the sticky mess at the tip. Peter squirmed as Beck drew slow sensuous circles around, drawing up precome to slide his thumb more purposefully over the slit. Peter moaned, biting his lip to stop himself, hearing how desperate he sounded as it echoed in the empty room.

"Stay still," Beck ordered.

Peter obeyed with effort. His hips wanted to buck up into Beck's grasp, but at the same time move back to meet Beck's thrusts. Somehow the blade made the struggle more real, and when his brain managed to move away from them as its focus, Peter could only concentrate on the cool metal that at any moment could slip, could cut, and the more he thought about that, the more he needed to move.

"Please," Peter begged, his voice wavering.

"You want it to hurt?"

"Yes," Peter replied.

Beck's hand was gone and back on Peter's hip. He slid his cock almost all the way out, then thrust violently forward, burying his entire length inside Peter. Peter cried out, and Beck repeated the action over and over, the ache within Peter growing each time. Tears pricked Peter’s eyes.

“W-wait,” he gasped, “stop—”

Beck thrust forward one last time. Peter was taken aback when, with the barest beginnings of a growl, Beck sunk his teeth into the slope of Peter's neck, biting into the flesh. The pain hit Peter like a jolt of electricity, the shock and intensity blurring, spiraling, and meeting with the already sharp crescendoing pleasure smouldering within him. It blended and surged with the lustful heat in his belly, and Peter found no way to stop the emergent moan.

Beck loosened his teeth's grip, his tongue briefly exploring the dents he'd left behind. Peter felt like he was losing his mind, it was too much, and in his drunken haze it ensnared him completely.

"Please," Peter whispered again.

"More?"

Beck's breath was warm against Peter's ear. His tongue peeked out and he nibbled at Peter's earlobe.

"I need—" Peter paused, not entirely sure what he did need, but feeling and knowing that there was something. Something that refused to be ignored or shut out. Something beyond just the heavenly feeling of Beck's cock thrusting into him harder than anyone had ever thought to, or dared to. Peter craved the roughness — more of it, somehow, he just needed more.

"What do you need, baby?" Beck murmured. He reached a hand around again to tease Peter's cock once more. "Tell me."

Peter sucked at his lower lip. Frustrated desire, clouding his mind, made him care less of what he'd say.

"I need to c-come," Peter said at last.

"Already?" Beck chuckled.

Peter swallowed thickly with shame. Beck dropped his hand and wiped the mess on Peter's shirt.

"But I'm not finished with you yet."

He started fucking Peter again so that the sound filled the room. Peter's moans joined the echoes.

Beck cursed in Peter's ear. His words, his breathing, was fueling the flames within Peter's gut. He felt like he was being consumed from the inside out. Peter's moans spilled out more frequently, sounding more and more desperate.

"They can probably hear you," Beck told Peter. "They think you're just a plain and ordinary twink, but we both know the truth, don't we? That you get off to this. To this knife against your throat. It would be so easy, Peter. Just a slip of my hand. Is that what gets you going?"

Peter knew it was true. If Beck wanted to, he could slit his throat right then and there. It wasn't likely, but the danger of it had Peter trembling — whether from fear, or arousal, he wasn't sure.

"At any moment," Beck said, and Peter could hear the desire in his voice as he tried to hold it back., "I could just cut. And your last moments would be me fucking you. I wouldn't stop, baby. Not until I'd come deep inside your tight ass."

Peter's cock ached to be touched. The worst things Beck said, the more Peter got turned on, and it was almost at his breaking point.

"Slit your pretty throat while I'm still fucking you."

He fucked Peter hard and fast, and Peter knew it was going to hurt so much tomorrow. Peter's hands tensed and untensed on the wall. Everything was giddy and all Peter could think about was how badly he needed to come, how he needed just that extra bit to tip him over the edge. Anytime he felt like he could chase it, it disappeared. As soon as he got a grip on it, it slipped his grasp.

Soon, Beck's movements became more erratic. Breathy groans escaped his lips, low and impassioned, right beside Peter’s ear. His grip on the knife tightened, but with this, its position wavered, threatening to break the skin of Peter’s throat. Beck's hips snapped in shorter, more frantic thrusts, the sound of his body slapping against Peter’s ass filling the bathroom. Peter couldn’t keep back his moans, and at last Beck stopped, tensing, and growled out a groan.

Peter could feel Beck’s come filling him, pulse after pulse. The sensation was new. He felt claimed, and between his legs his own cock throbbed insistently.

Peter waited while Beck caught his breath. At last, Beck slipped his cock out, the sudden emptiness catching Peter off guard. He wanted it back.

Beck urged Peter's hands down and had him turn around. Beck eyed him up and down.

"You're dripping," Beck said. He took Peter's cock in his hand, stroking it in loose strokes and bringing his gaze up to Peter's face. Peter trembled, lip quivering. He needed to come.

Beck's eyes stayed on Peter's. He brought the knife back up and considered the blade as he teased Peter's cock with slow, loose movements. Peter tried to thrust up into Beck's grip, huffing and whining. Beck pointed the knife back at Peter's throat.

"Nope. You stay still."

Peter had to tense completely to stop his body from moving, using every iota of his concentration. The knife's point dragged ever-so-slightly down the side of Peter's neck, Beck watching its path with a quiet fascination.

"Beck," Peter muttered desperately.

Beck's eyes flicked back up to Peter's. "Shh."

The knife came up to Peter's mouth.

"Open."

With trepidation, Peter opened up.

"Stick out your tongue."

Peter obeyed in a similarly cautious fashion. Beck laid the blade on the surface of Peter's tongue, sliding it back and forth. Smoothly it slid over.

"Lick it."

Peter eyed Beck nervously. He did so, the small pricks against the edge bringing a vibrancy to how he was feeling.

A grin had crept back onto Beck's face.

"I guess I'll let you come."

He began stroking Peter's cock fast. Peter kept moaning, breathing fast, as he drooled all over the knife, letting out pathetic little moans and whimpers until it hit him, and with a loud cry, he came, spilling come over Beck's hand as ecstasy flooded through him. He couldn't remember a time he'd been so lost in it.

When he started coming back to earth, he realised that the knife was gone. Beck was washing his hands in the sink. Peter looked at the world like it was something new — like everything had just been a dream. But he looked down and the come leaking down his leg, touched it, and looked at it. It was very real.

Peter walked into one of the bathroom stalls and wiped up what was spilling out of him. He then pulled up his underwear and jeans and looked up at Beck. Beck was eyeing himself in the mirror, running his hand across his hair to tidy up any stray strands. Seeing himself in the mirror, Peter saw his flushed face, his unruly hair, and how crumpled his shirt looked. 

"Well, that was fun," Beck said casually. He turned around and shot Peter a winning smile. "Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

He patted Peter's shoulder, who stood in mute amazement.

Beck then turned and left, leaving Peter behind to find his own way home. It took another minute before Peter finally got himself together. He ordered an Uber and couldn't figure out how he felt, but he lowered his head on the way out of the bar, knowing for certain that they had heard what had transpired between him and Beck.

The cool air hit him as he waited on the street. However he'd feel in the morning — whether he regretted it or not — no one had to know about this, and that brought Peter some comfort as he slipped into the backseat of the Uber and made his way home.


End file.
